


the moments we keep

by thefullergirl



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Freeform, Holding Hands, Home, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefullergirl/pseuds/thefullergirl
Summary: doyoung and taeyong have many moments, most of which they keep.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	the moments we keep

**Author's Note:**

> this is really just me going and writing dotae based on some prose i've written 3 years ago.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (povs are subject to switch + tags will be added as i go along)

Doyoung’s home.

He’s not always here, with how busy everything has been. It had started to feel like just a fact of life: both of them had been too busy to be here all that often. Their days and nights were eaten up with what they had to do, often what feels like a whole truckload of documents or a full inbox that they sigh at before opening. 

Whatever spare moment they had was either for resting or other things they had to take care of. It was the fabulous life of being over 30, Taeyong guesses. He doesn’t even really remember a time that they could just be in each other’s space, existing simply in whatever hours they had for themselves.

Sometimes, they would go weeks without really seeing each other. They’d just send a few quick texts to assure each other that they were alive and somewhat eating and that they got home at some point, but there was no actual conversation to those messages. 

Taeyong thinks of the days that they used to refuse to sleep until it was well into the morning, tangling in each other’s stories and melting into the way the last notes of a song fade. It was a simpler time, definitely. Happier, of course. Long ago, absolutely.

But things have changed. They cannot go back to that now. Both of them have far too many things to think about, like the pile of bills on the kitchen counter by the fruit bowl that hasn’t had fruit in a while, like the boxes in the corner they never got to sort through, like the text from Taeyong’s mom to come over for dinner sometime. In this apartment of theirs, there are too many rooms that feel empty, and Taeyong knows it can’t be helped.

On some sort of miracle, though, they are now both here, still wide awake. They are tired, yes, but he can feel it melt away in Doyoung’s grasp. Their takeout bag is on the coffee table, but they’re both too lazy to get the food out. He knows from experience that they’ll still eat it cold, maybe a couple of hours later.

Doyoung is rummaging through the files on his laptop for a movie to watch. They’ve gone through  _ Made of Honor _ at least a dozen times at this point, but the likelihood of them watching it again is high, like it always is. Undoing his jacket buttons and kicking off his shoes, Taeyong feels like he can breathe now. Here, it feels so far away from his office in the bustle of the city, and he wants to sink into the easy silence of contentment.

In the end, they ignore the movie that Doyoung randomly picked, instead choosing to talk. Catch up a little, the lord knows they deserve that after an indeterminate number of grueling weeks.

They talk about the dinner they’re supposed to go to this weekend, and how neither of them know anyone there, really. How they’d probably be stuck in a nook by the airconditioning unit, sipping wine they can never afford and trying all the appetizers they can’t pronounce the names of. They’d most likely just laugh along to the chatter of whatever table they’re placed in, without ever truly understanding what the hell they were talking about. Taeyong knows that Doyoung would soon lead him out into the garden, try to escape those people for a while, and feed him the dessert he snuck out on a napkin.

They talk about that mini holiday they were planning, already 2 years in their drafts. Nothing too big, maybe a home massage from one of those websites Doyoung had bookmarked. Maybe sharing a pail of cookies that they ordered just for that day while they stream all the episodes they missed, go into a debate on who gets eliminated next. They would sink into the softness of that comforter that has been in Taeyong’s cart for so long and yet he hasn’t checked out yet. It would be a little retreat for them, just an escape from everything they should be thinking about.

He brings up the dogs they saw at the shelter the other day. They had been all sorts of sizes, colors, ages. There was the labrador with her gleaming brown fur and her ecstatic tail that had steadily thumped against Doyoung’s leg. And then a terrier who caught a rubber ball again and again in the 15 minutes that they were allowed to play with him. The almost identical chihuahuas that stared at them as they walked past. The golden retriever puppies that slept in their laps, and that Doyoung was reluctant to let go of. A pitbull eating treats out of Taeyong’s hand after he showed them tricks.

Doyoung’s here, in the tiny couch that was only ever made for two. A faded blanket is draped over their shoulders, and they now each have a paper box of noodles in their hands. Taeyong watches as Doyoung’s eyes light up when he talks about his progress on a project that’s months in the making. He could feel his heart swell with pride as Doyoung talks about how he’s so close to finishing it, so close to showing it to the world.

When he asks Taeyong about a project of his own, something Taeyong had been doing on and off for a while, all Taeyong can offer is a tight smile. Frankly, not a lot of progress on his part, and he’s been trying to get back to it. Not easy, he’s learned. Coming back to it after all of the breaks he’s taken, it just doesn’t feel like he can do much with it. That frustrates him to no end.

But Doyoung understands. He says that some things just can’t be rushed, that something like that needed time and more learning. Taeyong closes his eyes, thankful for his patience when he himself doesn’t have much of that anymore. He knows that what he has been doing matters to Doyoung as much as it does to him.

Eventually, they stop talking. For now, it’s only their breathing that can be heard. Doyoung’s is steady and familiar, as it always is.

There are a thousand things that Taeyong wants to tell him about, but he knows that now is not quite the time. Not when their fingers are idly tracing across arms, mapping out the path of their veins and their little marks from all sorts of things. Not when he just wants to revel in the scent of rain and coffee and office airconditioning. They have time. He can tell Doyoung all those things when they have even more time.

Doyoung’s here, with his hair a mess and his glasses askew. His shirt is rumpled as they hold each other close as they can. When he hums something that Taeyong can’t quite place, it feels like they’re finally settling down into some version of peace. Their version of it, because there wasn’t actual peace in this 250 square meter home of theirs. In the outside world, they’ve always been loud, it’s who they have to be. But here, here, they’re comforted by the quiet.

He knows that they can’t stay like this. Alarms that they’ve set will start blaring in a handful of hours. They would need to abandon their messy sheets and a few more minutes of dreaming. Often, they would be out the door before either one ever really noticed. It was a fact of life, they needed to get up and leave, working towards the dreams they wrote on their palms maybe 10 years ago now.

There’s a list that they wrote on whatever paper they could find; documents they didn’t need anymore, old receipts they shoved into drawers and into pockets. Everything on that list, they had written out over the days, weeks, months. Both of them added to it when they could, using whatever writing instrument they can scrounge in the mess.

The first one they ever wrote when they searched for stars in their city of smoke. They had wanted to walk down the colored stones of a country out of their bounds, with scarves on their necks and flower petals whirling around them in the breeze. They thought about the trees casting images on their skin as they laughed about missing how they are now.

Farther down on that list was a little thing they had started to build slowly. Doyoung had told him that he wanted a shelf bursting with books on a yard outside, where everyone and anyone could take a book and maybe give a book back. All worn spines and yellowed pages, all crisp covers and fresh ink. 

A book for a rainy day snuggled under the covers, maybe. A book for a hot summer’s eve while soaking in a bath, of course. A book for the kid down the block who’s just moved in, definitely. A book for the old man going for a stroll, perhaps.

The last one on the list so far is something they never truly admitted they want. It’s just what they wrote on a night of too many drinks and too little sense. Taeyong remembers that they giggled about it then, but they’ve never talked about it since.

They had written about how gold bands would look on their fingers, how nice it would be to have daisies in their hair and a sunset in their eyes. It was a promise that they couldn’t keep right now, since they still will grow and learn that maybe that just isn’t for them. After all, they’re both dreamers with hearts that wander more than they ever did.

All of that is far from everything that they have now. It’s far from the nag of deadlines at the back of their minds. It’s far from their drowsy selves on the trains that take the home. It’s far from all the dates they missed because of the exhaustion.

And the thing is, Taeyong doesn’t quite mind it. He doesn’t mind all the lumpy pillows they share. He doesn’t mind how they crash into the couch after a long day. Doesn’t mind the little eating spots they discover on their off days. Doesn’t mind all the adventures they have whenever they get lost. Doesn’t mind how he can’t even tell which t-shirts in the drawer belongs to whom.

And he certainly doesn’t mind staying up when they’re supposed to be waking early. Just a few more moments with that smile that Doyoung has, kissing the corners of it and finding where he fits with him, whispering jokes that only they could ever understand.

Doyoung’s here.

Doyoung’s real.

Doyoung’s home.

And that means that Taeyong is home too.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me if you liked this one! i'm planning to unearth my old writing to see what else i can use~
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/bundoie) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/bundoie)


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